by Nikola Vaptsarov

Today
I would like
to write
a poem
breathing
the spirit
of modern times,
beating
as proudly
as demon wings
that scour the earth
from pole to pole.

Why do folk grumble?
Why do they sigh
for the old
outworn
romantic jumble?

Romance is today in the engines that sing
in the blue upper air,
and you who have not understood their refrain
have no right to despair.

For their song brings
to men
the enduring strength
of supple steel wings.

These birds, before long,
shall cast seed
on the land.
Their echoing song
hails the freedom of man.

They shall fly over ocean
and tropical belt,
where corn is in motion,
where snows never melt.

I proclaim
new romance
being born
and maturing,
the aeroplane racing -
a power
embracing
the whole world today.